


Ripped Paper and more than one fixed Relationship

by aceofhearts88



Series: Family Wright Oneshots [1]
Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: John Wright - Freeform, Michelle Wright - Freeform, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2655335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofhearts88/pseuds/aceofhearts88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A father tries to fix what has been broken and in the end mends more than one broken heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripped Paper and more than one fixed Relationship

He finds the unfamiliar box in the far back corner of the attic when Michelle has sent him up there to grab some more of those old paintings to gift the charity gala with, and puzzled upon its content John took it down into his study.

He passed by the open kitchen door where Michelle was swaying to the music, her hands mixing the ingredients of yet another cake for the charity bake sale she had been robbed into by the other women at the society. Behind her, sitting on the counter with a cup of coffee and one eye on the newspaper next to him, his son was quietly humming with melody, watching his wife's movements.

Whatever relationship they still had with each other, it was strained and awkward, and John knew that Logan had only returned him for the summer break because Derek had volunteered as a camp chaperon and Dolce Larson was still hesitant about letting anyone interrupt her son's recuperation.

They had spent the first two weeks of this summer together in one house and city, but never with each other, but still John was able to note the changes. Logan was quiet, he seldomly glared at him anymore and was able to hold some kind of decent conversation with him over dinner.

But even though John was really trying his best, he seemed unable to connect with his son, as if something was still placed between them.

So Logan spent a lot of time with Michelle and alone in the city, while John spent hours recking his brain to find something he could do with his son.

Heaving the box onto his desk, John reached for the letter opener to cut through the tape at the top of the cardboard box, and when it fell away and the box sprang open, he sank into his chair and his heart dropped to the bottom of the deepest sea.

Pictures. Douzens of pictures. With crayon. With fingerpaint. With marker.

But the bad thing, the worst thing was, he knew not a single one of those pictures was not broken. Not a single one of those pictures wasn't ripped or torn. And it was all his fault.

It had been years ago, before Logan had gone to Dalton, some weeks after his son had come out to him, they had had an argument again, lots of words had been screamed at each other and John had stormed into his office before he could have done something he wouldn't have been able to make right in the future.

And his eyes had fallen onto the dozens of pictures on the walls, the pictures he had never thought about taking down, not until then, because until then he had always thought his beautiful boy to be the best thing in his entire life.

His hands reached up to take one of the torn papers out of the box, a sun was painted into the corner of the half he was holding, green grass on the button, a small stick figure with a red shirt and blue pants was grinning, his left hand reaching out to the left, where the paper had been brutally torn in half.

The anger had taken over him back then, all alone in his office, his son's true accusations still fresh in his ears, and he had lost control, for the first time in over 15 years, he had completely lost control. He had ripped his son't self made pictures from the walls, had torn edges off and whole papers in two, some even into completely ruin.

And when he had been done, out of breath, hands shaking, he had fallen back against his desk and had realized what he had done. The entire room had been covered in paper, pieces of pictures thrown all over the floor and his desk, and when the silence had really settled into his bones again, his head had whipped around to stare at the door as a different pattern of breathing reached his ears than his own laboured gasps.

And John had stared into his son's green eyes, filled with so much anger, hurt and hatred that John had felt pushed back some 20 years, when it had been him staring at his own father, and just like his own father John had known in that moment that he had lost his son.

And thirteen year old Logan had slammed the door close and fled from the house, six hours later John had gotten the call from Colin that he would bring the boy back after he had calmed down a little.

And now, John burried his face in his hands, the half of the picture floating to the ground by his feet, so close, but also so far away. The wall between Logan and him had fallen, crumbled to the ground with the combined force of a fire and teenage rebellion, but neither father nor son knew how to step over the borders now.

Logan was too preoccupied with mending his strained friendship with his best friends, spending more time on the phone then off of it, and he knew that it bothered him that he was still unable to really be there for the young actor.

And John himself, he was too hesitant, he knew that if he took any wrong steps now, he would ruin the only chance he had at fixing things.

Fixing.

His eyes snapped up, and green orbs, so uniquely similar to his son's, stared at the content of the box, battered paper, but cuts could be repaired, torn paper could be fixed and he had to try.

The only thing he could do was try.

He rushes into the kitchen, ignores the way Logan and Michelle stop their laughing in order to stare at his back as he searched through the cupboards, only to sigh in relief when he found what he had been looking for.

And when he turned back around to leave the kitchen again, John didn't see how Logan frowned at his back, confusion edged into his face as Michelle shakes her head and goes back to flatten the dough.

Back in his office John got to work, placing the Scotch tape on his desk, he grabbed the box and turned it over, letting all those broken pictures fall to the ground, and then he knelt and started searching.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour passed, and when Julian's last message told him that the physiotherapist had arrived, Logan's attention was no longer divided between his need to keep on talking with his friend and the burning curiosity to know what possessed his father to search for the Scotch tape like a mad man.

So he told Michelle that he would be right back and stepped from his kitchen to look for his father, the halfway open door of his study gave him a good indication on where he could be, so he turned right.

Paper shuffling could be heard from inside the room and Logan hesitated for a second outside of the door, one hand already outstretched to push the door further open, he didn't want to disturb his father.

But then again. He couldn't remember a time where he had seen his father searching for something like Scotch tape with such determination and desperation.

Pushing the door open, Logan already mentally prepared himself to give an apology when he stopped short upon setting one foot into his father's office. There was paper everywhere, every surface was covered in it, his father sitting in a pile of torn pieces of paper on the ground, rolls of Scotch tape all around him, and Logan blinked.

Lips opened to form words he had forgotten, he stared at John, who was still oblivous to his presence, fingers shaking and trembling as he carefully but clumsily used the tape to puzzle the pieces of paper together, and with a jolt in his synapses Logan realized what those papers were.

Pictures.

Pictures he had made. The pictures his father had torn from the walls over four years ago.

"Dad...", but his quiet voice didn't hold enough volume to pull his father from his work, green eyes were focused on his fingers, brows furrowing together whenever something shifted too much, his hair was in disarray, tape sticking out from some of them.

"Dad!", Logan tried again, slightly raising his voice, "What are you doing?", he wanted to know, not able to understand the meaning of it all.

John snapped his head up, green eyes widening when he saw him standing in the doorway, but then they quickly looked down again and continued to cut tape off the roll.

"I'm fixing things."

And the last pieces of the puzzle came together in Logans head and he gaped at his father, gaped at the despair on his father's face as the paper moved too much with his trembling hands and the cut was fixed with bumbs.

He moved before he had fully decided to do so, moved across the room and sank to his knees in front of his father. Logan reached out a hand to grab hold of his father's barely bigger ones, and then tugged until John looked up to meet his eyes, looking away from the picture of a duck.

"I am pleased to see the effort, Dad, but... Those pictures are broken. They are torn and ruined, and even if you manage to tape them all together again, it won't change what happened.", it was difficult to not look away from the look of utter hopelessness on his father's face, "We can't fix the past, can't make what happened be undone... We can only move on and make sure that it won't happen again.", and when the hopelessness gave way for surprise, Logan's lips curled into a small smile.

"We have to learn from our mistakes.", John almost whispered, "I said those words to you over ten years ago.", in an even to himself unfamiliar gesture, Logan squeezed his father's hands.  
"Sometimes I listened to you, and I guess the words stuck...", being finally fed up with it, Logan reached up a hand to rip some tape from his father's face.

"What can I do to make this right, Logan? How can I ever make right what I did to you?", he let go of the one hand he was still holding when John straightened up from his hunched over position, and then they both knelt in the mess of the pictures.

"By being the father I need now, and not the one I could have used four years ago.", Logan explained to him, and John admired him for the calm behind his strong words, "Come on.", and he stared up at him for a moment as Logan got to his feet and held out a hand to him, he took it without further thinking about it and let Logan pull him to his feet.

"I need to call Derek again in some minutes to make sure he doesn't kill any of those kids who dared to speak out against Amanda again, and you should probably get yourself presentable again, but... I would like to talk, Dad.", for John's ears, it was almost music, to hear the word from his son's lips without venom or malive tainting it dangerous and hurtful, and he nodded, still somehow in trance.

"Good. We can do what I have been doing these last 16 nights...", and Logan stopped as John raised a careful eyebrow, that was an interesting sentence, "I am 18.", and funnily enough Logan had probably never sounded as much as a child in his presence in the last years than with these three words just there, Logan huffed, "I took a walk, lot of walks, clears my head and makes it easier to think."

John had his suspicions about what his son was having such a trouble thinking about, but he kept silent, he didn't want to overstep his boundaries yet.

Outside of the study, heels clicked over the tiles of the corridor, and soon enough Michelle's voice called out to them, "Johnny, have you seen my purse? I cannot find the recipe book.... What happened here?", and Logan just started laughing at the embarassed look in his father's eyes and by stepped Michelle as she started glowering at her husband for the mess he had made.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When John found himself waiting outside the house some minutes later, it was already quieter on the streets and the sky was already pitch black, stars twinkling down at him because their neighbourhood was not as brightly illuminated as the area around Times Square.

"Well, how would I know?", his sons's voice reached his ears as Logan stepped out of the house, jacket thrown over his simple black shirt, his face frowned into Michelle's roses as he stepped down the stairs, the two security guards John had hired for his family straightened up from their relaxing position against the fence, "Derek, they are ten year olds, they will say whatever they want. It doesn't matter how much you threaten them with monster stories and nights out in the wild.", Logan stopped talking when the voice on the other end of line started mumbling again, by then he was close enough that John could vaguely make out Derek Seigerson's voice.

And whatever he had said, it had Logan smirking in no time, "Are you really sure it was their doing?", he asked, waiting for a reaction, John was slightly puzzled, "Well, for once I think that move could easily be something Jules has taught her, and secondly, she is your sister for christ's sake. Don't kill children no matter how innocent they really are. I have to go now. Talk to you tomorrow, D.", he ended the call and slipped his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

"He sounds as though he is regretting his decision to volunteer?", John asked to break the silence that had started to fall over them, Logan looked at him and snorted, reaching down to zip up his jacket.

He keeps changing his mind, but I am quite sure by now that Amanda is trying to get him to give up so she’ll be rid of him.", John laughed and nodded for Logan to start walking, some distance behind them one of the security guards started following them.

They walked some blocks in silence, John could tell that Logan was thinking about how to begin, but was hesitating with his questions, so when they reached the Hudson promenade, he chuckled.  
"You know, it was always so difficult to get you to shut up. You never stopped asking questions, and now look at you, debating with yourself which question should be the first to ask.", and his words pulled a smile onto Logan’s face and he gave a quiet sigh, "I don’t know what’s going through your head.", John offered an intro, "Not exactly, but I’m not stupid, I can see that you are thinking about Julian a lot."

"Julian, Derek, Stuart, Dalton, college, take your pick. I could talk about each and every one of them for hours.", Logan answered him, daring a look to him, John smiled.

"Let’s start with the easy ones. What colleges have you thought about yet?", and Logan huffed and rolled his eyes in such a dramatic fashion that for the moment, they were just a normal pair of father and son on an evening stroll through New York City.

And it wasn’t until they had talked for over an hour, that Logan felt at ease enough to stear his father towards a topic he had wanted to talk to him about for weeks already, ever since he had held the freshman profiles for Stuart in his hands.

They had stopped at a beautiful corner of the promenade where you could look over the Hudson and at the ocean starting behind it, the stars twinkling in the black water. Logan had leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath.

"Does she know?", Logan asked after some minutes, keeping his eyes on the black water, focusing on the reflection of the stars, and John didn’t need to ask who he was talking about, the sudden tenseness in his shoulders explained it all.

"Yes, she knows what happened.", he answered with a leveled voice, "I didn’t call her myself, but I made sure she knows.", Logan could feel his father’s eyes on himself, but he knew the moment he would look away from the river he would loose his calm.

"Does she care?"  
"Logan.", but even though he relaxed his shoulders again when his father’s hand came to rest upon them, he kept on staring into the black night.  
"Does she care?", he repeated his question again, more force behind his words, John was quiet for a moment and then he sighed.

"No, I don’t think she cares anymore.", and even when he had expected the answer, his head dropped and he closed his eyes, John’s hands were on him instantly, turning him around and pulling his chin up with one hand, "But even if she doesn’t, that doesn’t mean I won’t. You’re my son. You don’t need her, never did. We did this alone for so many years, and it may not have been good all the time, but we’re still here. She may come back into your life on some degree now, but that doesn’t change anything, Logan.", John dropped the hand from his chin, but Logan still held his father’s gaze, "Dalton is your school. You are Stuart’s prefect, these are your boys, and if the last months showed us anything then that parents have never truly had a say in Dalton’s affair. You’re a Dalton boy and…."

"We are very protective of our own.", John nodded and patted his shoulder once again.  
"Now come on, there needs to be something open at this hour. I want ice cream.", and with the laughter bubbling from his lips, Logan blindly stumbled after his father as the senator pulled up his phone to search for the closest supermarket.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the evening after their walk when the knock sounded on Logan's bedroom door at quarter to midnight, Logan had just carried his laptop over to his bed and had flopped down on the blankets, having returned from a run this time half an hour ago.

"Come in.", he called out and watched how his father stepped into the room, wearing an old Dalton sweatshirt over his sleepwear, his lips were curled into a soft smile and he was carrying something in his hand.

"Michelle convinced me to go through our old photographs again and I found this, and thought you might want to see this.", John walked over to him and held out the wrinkled photo, Logan reached for it and turned it around. 

His eyes instantly recognized his younger self sitting in the play area of some museum or art gallery, there had been so many in his childhood. Younger Logan was leaning close to another boy, his fingers covered in paint, the most recent one apparently red, used to draw a chubby little heart into the boy's palm. 

"Some things are meant to be. Three years is a long time, Logan, but I think you've had him in your heart for far longer than that.", and there Logan noticed the color of the other boy's eyes.

"Julian.", he whispered, his fingers stroking softly over the small boys oak brown hair on the photo, not seeing how John smiled, already turning to leave the room again and only stopping when he was standing in the doorway again, handle in hand.

"I know that there is probably still a lot to be talked about between Julian and you, but Logan...", and he waited until green eyes looked up at him, "Don't lose hope. I know that he means a lot to you. Just as much as I always knew that you meant a lot to him.", and John smiled at him one last time that night and then closed the door behind himself, leaving Logan alone to ponder his words.

Some seconds after he father had left, his Skype account announced an incoming call and still half frozen in his surprise and shock somehow, Logan pressed accept on autopilot.  
"You will never believe what happened today...", his best friend's overexcited voice started as a greeting but then quickly cut off when he saw the lost expression on Logan's face, "What's wrong, Lo?", and Logan wordlessly held the photo into the camera.

"I taught you what a heart is, Jules.", he whispered and turned green eyes to look into sepia ones.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three days later

"What's this, Dad?", Logan asked, holding up the white envelope once he had sat down at the breakfast table, enduring Michelles fussing with his hair only because she presented him with a cup of beautiful black coffee.

John looked up from where he had previously been hidden behind the New York Times, "Plane tickets.", was his short explanation and Logan furrowed his brows in confusion, taking a sip from his coffee before continuing his questions.

"To where?", he wanted to know and he would have sworn that his father smirked as he vanished behind the newspaper again, Logan set his coffee down.

"Los Angeles.", again John's answer was quite short, but Logan froze and stared at his father, debating on how high the chances were that he had misheard, John noted his silence correctly, "I called Dolce Larson's agent two days ago, asked to have a chance to speak with her over the phone and she called back that same day."

Julian hadn't known about this, was the only thing Logan could think about, there hadn't been a day in the last seven weeks where they hadn't called or skyped at least once a day, and he hadn't said a word about his mother talking with the senator.

John was still not looking up from behind the newspaper when he spoke again, "We talked for at least two hours, and I apologized multiple times for my actions towards her in the hospital.", Logan gaped, "And we shared some shared feelings about broken relationships with our sons, seems there are some things we do have in common."

Stubborn. Thickheaded. Quick to lash out. Short temper. Too much influence. Biting tongue. Logan could name a few without thinking about it.

"And we agreed that we both made mistakes, but that our sons shouldn't suffer under them. Julian misses you, and I know that you cannot sleep without talking to him before going to bed, and that you are going running whenever the guilt of not being there for him overwhelms you. I'm not stupid, my boy.", Logan stuck out his tongue and Michelle giggled behind her bagel.

"I would advise you to start packing after breakfast, your plane leaves in four hours. I'm taking you to the airport before I drive to the conference.", Logan's chair hit the ground as he jumped to his feet and downed the coffee in three quick sips, before rushing around the table to throw his arms around his fathers neck.

John dropped the newspaper and started laughing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Some days later, John is on his way to give a speech, when his phone buzzes with an incoming message outside of the conference hall, and his eyes see the attached picture first. 

Two hands are intertwined, fingers holding onto another and written under it are two simple words: Thank you.

And John smiles and pushed his phone back into his pants, pushing the door in front of him open and turns to face his assistant, giving the papers in his hands over to him in order to straighten his tie one last time.

"Are you ready for this, Sir?", the young man, still barely more than a boy, looks at him with hesitant blue eyes, John knows he has his support, but the man is afraid of the avalanche they will set in motion, so he smirks, confident, determined, convinced and happy.

"I should have been ready for this five years ago.", and he nods over to the podium and the awaiting press, his assistant nodded quickly, "Let's go and change New York."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And when the speech goes viral, it blows up in good notes, and he barely has time for himself in the following days, and before he knows what had happened, Logan has come back from Los Angeles and left for Dalton again.

And he is juggling coffee, laptop, notes and letters in his hands on his way to his office and is relieved when his secretary jumped to her feet upon spotting him, rushing over to open the door for him.

"A package arrived for you earlier, Sir, I set it on your desk.", and the grumbles an answer on his way over, the door falling shut again behind Maria's leaving self.

The package is thin, more resembling a large letter. He drops his baggage before sitting down and opening it.

It's a picture. A large piece of paper. And on it a red heart. A red heart painted by a steady finger. Fingerpaint. One line in red.

And attached to it, there is a note.

Because you reminded me of what a heart is and what risks we have to take for the people we care about. I love you Dad.

 

It takes eleven years, but after this time period the walls in his home office are filled from top to bottom with self made pictures again, almost 12 square meters of paper taped to the simple white tapestry. Twelve square meters of proof for a more than happy childhood.

And in the middle of the ground John was kneeling again, but this time there are no ripped papers scattered all over the floorboards, instead a wooden train is slowly being pushed over black wooden rails by chubby little hands. Soft lips are pursed to make the according sounds as the little boy shuffles around on his knees.

John's eyes were fixed on the mob of blond hair and the way brown eyes sparkled, even though Logan was the biological father of his oldest grandchild, he looked astonishingly like a perfect mix of both his fathers.

Little Johnny giggles in delight as the train rolls down the little hill again and flops down into his grandfather's lap, leaning back against his chest, and John leans down to place a kiss on his sweet smelling head. The small boy craned his head further back to look up at him.

"Papa?"

"Your Papa and your Daddy will be here soon, champ. They're getting your sibling right now."

"Isi.", Johnny grinned and clapped his hands, John chuckled.

"If it is a sister, Johnny. You know your fathers haven't told us yet."

"Isi.", his little voice chirped again and he pushed himself from John's thighs to toddle over to the chest with his toys, grabbing another waggon of the train, "Moo.", he went, showing John the blue waggon where one could fit in one of the wooden cows or pigs.

It was still so endearing to see that the only one not being completely crazy yet over Logan and Julian keeping the second child's gender secret was their first son, who had after all been convinced for weeks already that the new baby would be a sister, everyone else was slowly starting to bite on their nails.

Six hours already. And nothing more than "Happy. Healthy. Loud." from Logan.

When Johnny was busy with his train again, John's eyes turned to the pictures on his wall, he would need to make some place, maybe shift some of them into another room in the house, now where another one would in given time sit on his lap on the desk chair and scribble on paper while he made his calls.

"Poppa!"

"What's up?", he smiled at the sheer excitement in Johnny's voice, his grandson held up the little blue car again that John had earlier moved around the rails, always stopping at the crossing to let the train pass, only the chase after it with the siren sounds blazing from his own lips afterwards, "Are they carrying escaped prisoners again?", Johnny nodded, and giggled as his grandfather raised both eyebrows, "Where do you drive around with your train, champ?"

"Dalton!", he cheered as John reached for the police car.

"I'm quite sure we never housed escaped prisoners at Dalton, buddy.", a voice deadpanned from the door and it was debatable who whirled around quicker, grandfather or grandson.

"Daddy!", but John quickly grabbed onto a grinning Johnny to keep him from storming towards his father as he spots the bundle in Logan's arms, swinging him into his arms, he got to his own feet and walked over to his son.

Johnny wriggled in his arms as he stopped next to Logan, trying to get a peak into the blankets, neutrally white, "Isi, Daddy?", Logan smiled at his son.

"Sorry, buddy. It's not a sister, next time okay?", shifting the bundle into one arm, Logan reached up to stroke through his son's hair, getting a kiss on his fingers, "Meet your little brother Jason.", and he pushed the blanket a little to the side to show them the sleeping baby with the little brown hairs on his head, tiny fingers peaking out from his sleeves.

And while Johnny carefully inspected his baby brother, Logan looked up to smile at his father, he looked tired, but undeniably happy, "We've decided on Jason Arden Larson-Wright."

"It's a strong and wonderful name for a beautiful baby boy.", John used one hand to to squeeze Logan's shoulder, "Come now, I bet Johnny here wants to see his Papa and we can't keep the baby from Michelle for too long.", Logan laughed, but still turned to leave the room, Michelle had doted on Johnny, but it had been John who had always taken the boy from his fathers' hands within the first three seconds in every visit.

Not every story had an end, but their tale had one. A happy ending.


End file.
